


we'll be dancing the same groove when we're ninety-two

by Ester



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Food, Idols, M/M, New Year's Eve, seventeen skipped the big hit concert so jeonghan and seungcheol could have a date night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28358823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ester/pseuds/Ester
Summary: “Hey,” Jeonghan smiles, coming around the little kitchen island to press a kiss against Seungcheol’s cheek and take stock of the overwhelming amount of stuff Seungcheol’s piled onto the counter in preparation. “You look frazzled and you haven’t even started,” he laughs, after one look at Seungcheol’s face. As if he’s unaware that being the sole focus of Yoon Jeonghan’s attention is a heady, overwhelming thing.// Seungcheol makes dinner.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 24
Kudos: 153





	we'll be dancing the same groove when we're ninety-two

**Author's Note:**

> every time i out-schmaltz myself. this fic is mostly just to end 2020 with jeonghan and seungcheol because that's how i started it. think of it as me sweeping up all the little thought crumbs in my head and tapping them out onto a word file while giving myself brain damage with 17 (feat. joshua and DK of SEVENTEEN).

“Have dinner with me,” Seungcheol says to him on Tuesday, purposefully not phrasing it as a question. Sometimes Jeonghan responds better to commands. They allow him fewer ways to squirm around answers and Seungcheol’s not in the mood for banter. He has had a moment of clarity. He wants to cook dinner and he wants Jeonghan to eat it. What is the point of being in charge of twelve people if he can’t even get one of them to eat pasta for him?

Jeonghan, to his credit, doesn’t even try to argue. Maybe he hears the conviction in Seungcheol’s voice, senses the grand plan, instantly and telepathically shares the great vision glimmering in Seungcheol’s mind’s eye. Maybe he just likes pasta and is willing to let someone else cook it for him. He snaps two pieces of Lego together, looks up at Seungcheol from where he’s sitting on the floor of his bedroom that Seungcheol’s barged into, and says “Alright.” Honestly, Seungcheol was waiting for an argument, so when it doesn’t come, he’s left adrift. He pushes his luck a little.

“And wear something nice, too. We’re going to be civilized.”

“I will be wearing my second-nicest pair of sweats,” Jeonghan tells him immediately, most of his attention already back on the Legos, hiding a twitch of a smile behind his hair that’s long enough to brush his cheeks again. Seungcheol likes him so much he wants to scream.

“I’ll take it,” he nods, “On Thursday. Seven o’clock, our dorm.”

“Uh huh, sure.”

Seungcheol backs out of the room, closes the door gently behind himself, and pulls out his phone. He’s been trying to not overshare after a humiliating discussion with the company’s PR team about keeping up an image befitting an idol, but surely Weverse has to know about this one. Just a little.

Making sure that the dorm is clear of mood-killers is easier than Seungcheol dared to hope, albeit not even slightly less embarrassing than he’d braced for.

Joshua’s the easiest – he catches him in the kitchen, choking down a protein shake. He only has to say Jeonghan’s name and Joshua is already waving his hand like he’s trying to dispel a bad smell and tells him that he does not need or want to know anything about what Seungcheol and Jeonghan are going to do on New Year’s Eve. He will be getting drunk with Seokmin while blasting music so loudly nothing, absolutely nothing, no sound, will carry over even between floors. He makes that point very clear. Seungcheol has always thought that Joshua is a prude for an American, but he chalks it up to Catholicism.

Minghao listens politely to Seungcheol’s request, eyeing him through the mirror as he plucks his eyebrows, and then, not unkindly, informs him that he has friends and was never going to spend New Year’s Eve at the dorms. He also promises to take Mingyu with him, before he can ask to join in on the dinner.

Wonwoo, however, tries to pull the “I’ll put my headphones on and never leave my room” card on him, unwilling to leave his gamer nest on a rare free evening.

“We’re going to come into your room and kiss in front of you,” Seungcheol has to threaten. Wonwoo rolls his eyes.

“Cool. I’m twenty-five. I’ve seen you kiss before, Seungcheol.”

“I’m gonna have him dip me backward like we’re at the end of Casablanca.”

“I don’t think you’ve seen Casablanca,” Wonwoo frowns but sighs, “Whatever. Fine, I’ll go drink with Chan or something. But I am going to come back to sleep in my own bed, so if you’re not done fucking by one a.m. that’s on you.”

“Bold of you to assume Jeonghan would stay awake past midnight,” Seungcheol says. Jeonghan, who likes to snuggle under a heavy duvet by eleven at the latest and is out like a light for nine hours if their schedule ever allowed such a luxury. Jeonghan, who sticks his ice-cold feet against Seungcheol’s ankles and sometimes mumble-whines in his sleep until Seungcheol pulls him closer and rolls over him a little so that the weight settles him back down. He thinks he might be smiling like an idiot because Wonwoo rolls his eyes and turns back to his book. Seungcheol takes a moment to fondly remember the early days when these kids still occasionally respected him.

On Wednesday, Seungcheol asks Mingyu to come grocery shop with him. It’s mostly for company, but also a little for advice. It cannot be overstated how little Seungcheol cooks, while Mingyu actually enjoys it as an activity. And the meat section at their nearest supermarket is unnecessarily huge, so it just makes sense to have another pair of eyes there to make sure that Seungcheol buys the right cuts.

“Bulgogi pasta is not very fancy,” Mingyu sniffs, after hearing Seungcheol’s menu plan. He’s eyeing Seungcheol’s basket, looking judgemental, “It’s New Year’s Eve. Don’t you think you should get some oysters, at least? They’re in season. Oysters and champagne, maybe? A little luxury?”

“Jeonghan doesn’t like those. He likes bulgogi and he likes pasta. So that’s what I’m making,” Seungcheol says. Jeonghan is a picky eater, charmingly so. He has a nose like a bloodhound and he always picks out the bits he doesn’t approve of onto Seungcheol’s plate. “And we’re not really fancy people,” he adds, after thinking about it. They just aren’t. They like to watch the most popular dramas and eat ramyeon in their sweatpants and maybe go for a walk. Nice, simple things that are made special because he gets to do them with someone he loves and far less often than he’d like to. Their everyday schedules are filled with public attention, expensive clothes, makeup, and flashing lights. Getting to look at Jeonghan without having to keep a mental tally of every stranger in the room is a luxury to him.

Maybe something shows on his face because Mingyu doesn’t push it. Instead, he smiles, heart visible in his shiny eyes, and nods.

“Okay. That’s good, too, hyung. Really.”

Mingyu never calls him hyung. He must be a sight right now. Seungcheol clears his throat and gestures vaguely down the aisle. Maybe the fluorescent lights are making him look even more pathetic than he feels.

“You should tell me about pasta noodles. Do I want penne? What is penne?”

“Oh my God, how have you survived into your old age?” Mingyu mutters, but turns on his heel and heads towards the dry goods section, nattering on about the difference between tagliatelle and spaghetti. Seungcheol fails at hiding his smile and follows.

Turns out that Seungcheol absolutely does not want penne. He wants linguine, apparently. They get their groceries and manage to drive back to the dorms after only briefly getting lost in the parking garage. Mingyu disappears to take his new Dyson vacuum for its second spin that week because he’s a freak, and Seungcheol heads to YouTube like a regular person.

YouTube tells him that bulgogi pasta is a twenty-minute meal, which sounds like an optimistic assessment to Seungcheol, as he watches the chef toss sliced green onions into a pan like they’ve just magically appeared all prepped and ready. Is he supposed to cut them before or after starting the pasta? He considers inviting Mingyu to third wheel them after all. But if he’s there, he will try to hog Jeonghan’s attention and that will not do. Seungcheol’s just going to have to figure it out.

It’s silly to be nervous about having dinner with someone you’ve known for almost a decade. But when Jeonghan comes into the quiet kitchen on Thursday evening, wearing his second-nicest pair of sweatpants, the dorm free of all nuisances and distractions, Seungcheol finds his hands shaking a little. It’s just so rare that they have an opportunity to purposefully be together, alone, planned. It feels like a performance; like maybe Jeonghan will grade him on it afterward. If there were cameras, maybe he would. But there aren't and sometimes that's hard to remember. Jeonghan, when the cameras are off, is deeply kind. Maybe he would tease, but only later, once the sting of it had worn off, and even then he would loudly tell anyone who asked that it was delicious and that they should be jealous that Seungcheol only cooks for him.

“Hey,” Jeonghan smiles, coming around the little kitchen island to press a kiss against Seungcheol’s cheek and take stock of the overwhelming amount of stuff Seungcheol’s piled onto the counter in preparation. “You look frazzled and you haven’t even started,” he laughs, after one look at Seungcheol’s face. As if he’s unaware that being the sole focus of Yoon Jeonghan’s attention is a heady, overwhelming thing.

“I think I’m freaking out,” Seungcheol says, “We don’t have any backup food. What if I fuck this up?”

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but there’s this fantastic invention called the internet. You can order all kinds of meals off there,” Jeonghan tells him, eyes wide and dancing. The hypocrite. As if he hasn’t made a name for himself as the worst online shopper in Seoul. He still has the pair of doll pants he bought because he thought a thousand won for a pair of jeans made sense in some universe. “Start with the onions. You’ll calm down with a knife in your hand.”

“No, you calm down with a knife in your hand,” Seungcheol mumbles, but following Jeonghan’s instructions is easy. He starts chopping, trying to emulate what he saw in the video yesterday, while Jeonghan putters about the kitchen, hooking his phone up to the portable speaker on the island. Something soft and acoustic filters through, a female vocalist, who sings in English. Jeonghan hums wordlessly along for a bit, taking out plates and cutlery and setting them next to the stove.

“It’s so clean in here,” Jeonghan says after a while, scuffing his left foot against the kitchen tile, “You wanna swap rooms?”

“Mingyu’s been very busy with his new best friend,” Seungcheol laughs, hands steady again. They split the cost of Mingyu’s new Dyson vacuum between the two of them. For weeks he’d been extremely unsubtle about what he wanted as a Christmas present and Seungcheol has to admit that seeing his pleased wiggle when the package had been delivered had been worth every won.

“I can’t believe we spent half a million on him and all I got in return was a stack of _Mingyu bucks_ ,” Jeonghan makes air quotes. Seungcheol frowns. He'd been offered exactly one handmade voucher to be exchanged for a personal favour from Kim Mingyu.

“A stack? I got _one_ and even that felt reluctant.”

Jeonghan’s laugh is a screech. He pulls out a neatly stapled-together stack of Monopoly money with Mingyu’s face in the centre and flaps it obnoxiously at Seungcheol’s face.

“I guess we know who’s the favourite,” he cackles.

“I can’t believe you keep them with you,” Seungcheol pouts and checks the pot of water. It’s nearly boiling. He’s going to have to have a few stern words with his currently least favourite dongsaeng.

“Aww, baby,” Jeonghan coos. He comes closer and wraps an arm around Seungcheol’s hip, perches his chin on his shoulder, “I’ll share. We’ll never have to fold laundry again.”

The weight of him is good against Seungcheol’s side. Steady, solid, warm. He smells like nice expensive shampoo and a little like Seungcheol’s aftershave because he’s too lazy to replace his own bottle that ran out weeks ago. His cheek is pristinely smooth against Seungcheol’s neck and he likes the idea that maybe Jeonghan shaved just before coming over. Just for him.

The song changes and a familiar bass pluck starts to reverberate. Joshua’s voice comes on, soft and a little different than Jihoon would use it on their own songs. It’s very sweet that Jeonghan has Joshua and Seokmin’s feature on his personal playlist.

“Hey, sing for me,” Seungcheol says, nudges Jeonghan’s side a little, as he steps away from him to dump in the pasta, “Payment for dinner.”

Jeonghan groans in a show of reluctance but catches onto Seokmin’s part easily enough, voice light and breathy. He perches on the clean side of the kitchen counter and kicks his leg in rhythm with the bass line, aiming at Seungcheol’s leg. Seungcheol stirs the wok and thinks that he would give up anything to keep this.

It’s not even a real relationship, in some ways. They have never discussed whether they’re each other’s boyfriends. It’s not official on any level and it certainly can’t be. They don’t share a room or a bed half of the time. It’s just that when Seungcheol was eighteen, Jeonghan walked into the grossly green practice room and there hasn’t been anyone else for him since.

If asked, Seungcheol would say that he doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but he doesn’t know how else to explain what they are. It was a slow, meandering thing. Seungcheol kissed Jeonghan one late night, half-delirious with exhaustion, and Jeonghan looked at him, eyes dark and wide, and kissed him back. They have sex when they’re not too tired to move after a long day. When Seungcheol’s parents come to Seoul, he takes Jeonghan to see them. Sometimes Jeonghan’s mother calls him and doesn’t even ask about her own son. But there was also the year they didn’t talk to each other outside of work that ended with Jeonghan giving him the meanest head of his life. They probably should talk about that at some point. But not yet, not now. Now, Seungcheol just wants to eat dinner with him.

“What are you thinking about?” Jeonghan asks, the song long over, the meal almost ready. His head is tilted to the side, eyes a little narrow like he’s trying to pick out the answer from Seungcheol’s head. He considers making a joke. He could say he’s thinking about Mr. Pink Sweat$, who was, by both Joshua and Seokmin’s account, the coolest person either of them has ever spoken to. But he decides not to. Even though it feels like a trust fall, it’s good to be honest with Jeonghan. He always catches him.

“You,” Seungcheol says and can’t help the embarrassed smile that twists his mouth, “I’m happy that you’re here with me. That I get to start a new year with you.”

Jeonghan is quiet for a moment, smiling faintly, still kicking Seungcheol’s shin. Then he hooks a foot behind Seungcheol's knee and nudges him to come closer. Seungcheol tries to not knock over the wok, as he slots himself between Jeonghan's thighs and sets his hands on his hips. It feels nice to lean against him and to tilt his head up to look at him. Jeonghan tucks his hair behind his ear and leans down to kiss Seungcheol, quick and light over his mouth. He cards his fingers through Seungcheol's hair, too, pushing it out of his eyes with knobbly, clever fingers. Seungcheol's been told several times that he gets cow eyes for Jeonghan; that it's too obvious and embarrassing. He hasn't ever figured out how to not do it and right now he doesn't even try.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

**Author's Note:**

> happy new year! thank you to everyone who's been so kind about my little stories in 2020. you've made an otherwise miserable year so much better and worthwhile. if you want, you can come say hi  
> [@yilinges](https://twitter.com/yilinges) !


End file.
